Alone and Cold
by Lady Froggie
Summary: The war is over and Harry has become an alcoholic living in Iceland. By chance he runs into Draco Malfoy who has also taken refuge away from all that he once knew. Together they learn to deal with their past sins and life after the war.
1. Chapter 1

Author's note: Ok, well, I have not done this fanfiction thing in quite a while but I though that I might give it another shot since it seems that the faces have changed and I could use a break from writing essays and practicing. I started this story when I was in Germany last summer right after I read the sixth Harry Potter book. The idea was bugging me so I wrote it out to get it out of my head so that I could pay attention in my classes. I am currently trying to write from memory being as what I wrote is somewhere in New Jersey and I am currently in Ohio and do not really feel like waiting for winter break to start this monster.

In addition, I know that I hate it when authors do not update a lot. However, I do not really have the time to update very often but I will try very hard to update REGULARLY. I will try to update with something every other Saturday. It might not be long but I will at least touch base so you know that I am still kicking around.

Disclaimer: This story is not endorsed by JK Rowling, Scholastic books or any other affiliate of Harry Potter. Furthermore, no money is being made from this venture.

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It was a cold November night in a bar in Reykjavik. The music was loud and the patrons were drunk, laughing and dancing and overall having a good time. There were a few British tourists looking for a fight but a group of Icelanders was more than happy to oblige them, which had gotten them kicked out of the bar. All in all, it was a rather typical Friday night in Reykjavik.

Harry Potter sat at the bar hunched over his glass. He looked into it, knowing that he was supposed to do something now that the drink was gone. Was it gone? Yes, yes, it seemed to be. What did he do next?

He continued to stare into his glass when one of the few patrons of the bar who ever bothered to pay him any mind sat in the stool next to him.

"Hey man, how's it goin'?" the young man said jovially.

Harry just kept staring into his glass.

"Hello, Biddi" Harry slurred after a moment, still preferring to make eye contact with his glass rather than with his conversant.

Biddi was a big guy who had a taste for alcohol and a mind to party. He was an extremely loyal friend and had always felt bad for that strange British man who always sat alone at the bar getting sloshed beyond belief. Biddi had even called a cab for Harry once or twice when Harry could no longer walk. Biddi was only a nickname of course; his full name was far too complex for Harry's constantly drunk tongue. Though frankly, Harry wasn't sure if he could pronounce it sober.

"I was just wondering if you knew and guys in London who might be willing to put up an Icelander for a few days. I am taking a trip around England and I'm trying to keep the costs down."

Harry looked up for a moment.

"Everyone I knew has either forgotten me or is dead," Harry said looking back into his glass. What was the next thing to do? He knew this, he had done this many times before, if only he could remember.

"Oh, sorry man, I didn't mean…" Biddi stammered awkwardly.

"No, it's fine. There is a reason why people think I belong in Klepp1, why I act this way," Harry said before he could stop himself. Hm, that was a lot of words, he clearly wasn't drunk enough. Ah yes, order another drink, that is what he would do next.

"Nah, we don't say that. You just like your drink a bit more than most guys," Biddi said easily.

Harry sighed. This bartender probably wouldn't give him another drink, he would have to move on.

"Of course," said Harry, swaying as he stood up. He felt that welcome whooshing feeling of the alcohol taking hold.

Harry staggered into the cold, November night. The alcohol wasn't keeping the cold out, but then, it never did. He kept walking, not entirely sure where he was going having forgotten what his plan had been in the warm bar.

Harry walked for a long time, stopping occasionally to take a swing from his flask. Eventually he found his way to a little town that he had staggered to before in warmer months. It was very far away from Reykjavik by foot but for some reason he seemed to often find himself there. The town was named after the swans that were common there and sometimes even blocked the road. Not that mattered to Harry; he was never sober enough to drive.

Harry finally found his spot. He sat on a rock overlooking the ocean. He pulled a bottle holding an amber liquid out of an inner coat pocket and took a long swing of it, emptying the bottle. He felt the pleasant warming sensation travel through his throat and into his stomach. He hoped it would kick in soon he was not nearly drunk enough.

Throwing the bottle away, Harry fell off his rock, stood up, and walked along the dark sand to the ocean. Even in the summer, the ocean was far too cold to swim in and only the foolish ever attempted to enter the waters. Native Icelanders would only run in as a joke but would run back out as soon as the cold hit their feet. This was where Harry headed though, wading into the icy waters of the north Atlantic.

The water was up to his knees when he heard a voice, which made him start.

"If you are trying to walk to England, Potter, you are going in the wrong direction. If you go that way you will end up in Canada and honestly, who really wants to go there?"

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A/N: 1 Klepp is a psychiatric hospital near Reykjavik. Saying this is the equivalent of saying "that person belongs in Bedlam." For more on Klepp, I highly recommend the book _Angels of the Universe_. There is a movie too but they only have it for region 2 currently. The book is just wonderful though.

That is it for now. Please review!


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Wow, people actually responded, I suppose that means I should update when I said I would. Thank you for all of your kind words. Yes, the premise is a bit overdone but hopefully I can still make it interesting. If nothing else perhaps people will find drunken Harry mildly amusing, eh? And oh my goodness an Icelander is reading this :blush: This means that I will have to actually check my facts (which of course I would do anyway :looks around guiltily:) No, I am not Icelandic but I frequently like to pretend I am. I hang around the country and people are like "who is that crazy American hanging around again?" Ok, not quite accurate, my boyfriend is an Icelander so I am in the country rather often.

Now that I am home and have my original writings I find that I had all sorts of witty ideas in that first part that I forgot about. Such as Biddi's original name, which was Gummi. I had forgotten the name and I have a friend named Biddi so I just used his name. Incidentally the character is not important at all so his name doesn't matter much but I sort of like that name better so I thought I would mention it.

More importantly, álftanes is the town Harry is in. It isn't capitalized because I can't find the A with the right accent as a capital letter.

Ok, I'll stop stalling and write the update.

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"If you are trying to walk to England, Potter, you are going in the wrong direction. If you go that way you will end up in Canada and honestly, who really wants to go there?"

Harry froze at the sound of that eerily familiar voice. But what was the voice doing in álftanes or in Iceland for that matter?

Harry turned around to make sure that his ears were not deceiving him. Well, there he was, Draco Malfoy, standing on the beach in álftanes, how odd.

Not entirely sure how to proceed, Harry sat down in the icy water.

"Well this is interesting," Malfoy muttered to himself observing the shell of a man before him.

"Come on Potter. I have a mind to talk to you and if you will accompany me to my house you will find it considerably warmer than the North Atlantic,"

Harry just stared at him with massive confusion.

"Now really, if you are trying to kill your self, this is rather stupid way to go about it," Malfoy yelled out to Harry who was now turning slightly blue.

Harry continued to stare at Malfoy as if he were trying to decide how to proceed.

"Jesus Potter, there is no fucking way I am going in after you," Malfoy yelled in frustration. Why on earth was he doing this? He really didn't want to talk to Potter that badly.

Harry couldn't feel is fingers anymore, which suited him just fine, he didn't really care what happened to them. He could drink out of a straw just fine.

"Bollocks," Malfoy muttered as he hesitatingly stepped into the water. He wadded out to Harry's spot and pulled him into a standing position.

"Apparating these days?" Malfoy asked as Harry's head lolled on his shoulder, "Right, I'll take that one as a no. Hold on,"

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Harry found himself in a warm colored room with regal but comfortable looking furniture. Collapsing on a nearby sofa he found his assertion to be correct. Unfortunately his shivering was counteracting the comfort of his resting place, now what was that about?

Malfoy sighed and threw Harry a maroon blanket that matched the colors of the room.

"Anything to drink? Hot chocolate, coffee, tea…" Malfoy offered.

"Brennvín1" Harry interrupted.

"Hm, alcoholism, very heroic," Malfoy muttered pulling a green bottle with a clear liquid out of a cabinet. Perhaps this was not the battle to fight at the moment.

"Call it what you will, I need by buzz back," Harry muttered as Malfoy handed him his black death. After two shots, he was out like a light.

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A/N: 1 Brennvín is Icelandic schnapps. Wonderful stuff, ahem, I mean, don't touch it, awful for you, the devil's drink.

I might update a bit earlier that usual since I am taking one of my escapades to Iceland for new years and if I get enough love I might decide to be fair and update early. I would rather not write while there, I think my boyfriend would make fun of me…

If you read, please update! If you didn't like it, tell me why! I won't improve if I only get nice reviews!


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Sorry guys, I have been on a sort of hiatus caused partially by falling out of my pattern by my trip. I thought about dropping the project because this semester is shaping up to look pretty awful but I decided that I missed writing Draco Malfoy dialogue so here I am! I will try to get back to my every other week thing now that I am back in action.

I thought about taking pictures of the beach Harry was at but then I decided that it was too dark and cold and I preferred blowing off fireworks to running around dark beaches.

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Harry woke up with a sharp headache and an uncomfortable feeling in his belly. Groaning he reached for his nightstand to find the whiskey that he always kept there to counteract the affects of his frequent hangovers. He gave a unintelligible grunt of frustration when he found nothing there. What the hell? Who moved it?

Opening one eye cautiously Harry found that he was in fact not in his room. This was not a pleasant realization to Harry who was now exceedingly eager to start drinking again.

As Harry was deciding how he should deal with this rather surprising situation, the door opened cautiously and the lights went on.

Harry promptly dived under the covers to avoid the light.

"Hm, hung over I see. Well that is hardly a surprise. There is a shower in the bathroom adjoining this room and if you feel the need to be ill you had better do it in the toilet or I will personally kill you," Said the voice who had so cruelly turned on the lights.

"Where the hell am I?" Harry grunted.

"We don't remember last night either? Well then, all the more reason to get up and come have some breakfast while we still have some sunshine," the voice said sounding mildly amused, "I expect you to be out here in at least 20 minutes," and the voice left, unfortunately leaving the lights on.

Harry groaned and considered going back to sleep. If it was light out that meant that he deserved a good four hours more sleep. In fact, he wasn't sure that he had ever seen the sun in the Winter as he tended to sleep through that brief days.

Deciding it would be best not to argue with the person who seemed intent on giving him a hard time, Harry fell out of bed and found his way to the bathroom where he washed up.

Stumbling out of his room, Harry found himself in a hallway that led to a Kitchen where he found of all people, Draco Malfoy.

"What the hell are you doing here, Malfoy?" Harry spat not too kindly.

"Good morning, sunshine. I saved your ass last night so I suggest you drop the attitude," Draco said as he placed some food and coffee on the table.

"I don't want any, food makes me sick," Harry said as he slumped at the table pulling the coffee towards him.

"Oh yes, I am i sure /i the food is to blame for you becoming ill. It has nothing to do with the excessive amounts of alcohol you seem to be consuming, does it?" Draco drawled sarcastically.

Harry just stared into the coffee and wondered if he could convince Malfoy to spike it.

"Well, I must say, I was rather surprised to see you last night. What are you doing here?" Draco asked as he tucked into his breakfast.

Harry took a sip of the bitter drink.

"Why do you care Malfoy. Anyway, I might ask the same of you," Harry grumbled, "trying to run away like the Nazis? Running away just to be found twenty years later to be tried for crimes against humanity?"

"I have no idea what a 'Nazi' is but I assure that that is not the case. Well, the running away part perhaps, but not the crimes against humanity part," Draco said ponderously.

Harry snorted.

"Right, killing all those people for some slimy dark lord, no, of course not, not a crime against humanity at all,"

"You have no idea what you are talking about Potter. Believe it or not, you were not privy to everything going on during the war thanks to your stupid plan to run off on your own and find the Dark Lord instead of returning to Hogwarts where there were people who could, and would, help you," Draco spat, now sounding slightly irritated.

"And were you one of those people, Malfoy? Oh yes, let me help Harry Potter. Oh wait, never mind, my father wouldn't let me. He would get angry and stop sending me letters from Azkaban," Harry drawled mockingly.

Some pink tinged Draco's cheeks.

"Once again Potter, you have managed to prove to me your complete idiocy. Even so, you are hardly the most wonderful individual. You run off into battle, looking for certain death, without the help of people who actually know what the hell is going on. Did it ever occur to you that a 17-year-old wizard is not old enough to figure out how to kill Voldemort? So then you get lucky with the help of some people who manage to find you at convince you to take assistance. And when you defeat Voldemort and become a hero, what do you do? Do you stay to help rebuild the wizarding world? No! You run off without a word to any of your friends or comrades. Very heroic Potter, very heroic,"

Harry jumped up and threw the coffee mug at the wall.

"Fuck you, Malfoy! You have no idea what I went through, what I had to do!"

Harry ran over to the alcohol cabinet and pulled out the first bottle he could find a drained it.

Draco sighed and fixed the cup. This was not quite how he intended this to turn out.

"Potter, if you would kindly stop draining me of my alcohol supplies and sit over here on the couch we can talk like civilized wizards,"

Harry glared at Draco for a moment and grabbing a whiskey bottle walked over to living room and on to the couch.

"Alright, so, before you started throwing my crockery around, we were attempting to discuss how we found ourselves on this godforsaken island," Draco said evenly as he sunk into an armchair, "Perhaps you would like to enlighten me on how you found yourself here? I must admit that running across you last night was a bit of a surprise,"

"You first," Harry said as he took a few large gulps of whiskey.

Draco sighed with exasperation.

"Fine, just don't throw my stuff around anymore. I am here because at the end of the war very few people understood my role in the grand scheme of things and since no one wanted my help in the rebuilding I moved here to avoid being treated like a second class citizen,"

"And what heavenly role did you play Malfoy? You seemed just as evil as the rest," Harry spat before taking another swing.

"I have nothing to prove to you Potter. If you want to think that I am an evil Death Eater, fine, think that. I never put much clout in your intelligence anyway,"

"Fine," Harry replied after finishing off the bottle.

"Now you tell me, what are you doing here? Why did you run away from everything?" Malfoy inquired.

Harry's eyes turned shadowy as if he was seeing something that was not in the room.

"Things happened during that war, thing that I don't really want to think about. I am not drunk enough, oh God," Harry stammered. He seemed to be loosing more and more self-control as he continued finally bursting into tears.

Draco sat in this chair, stunned. He was not at all sure how to proceed; he had expected a great number of things to come of this conversation but none of them was to have the Man-Who-Killed-Voldemort bawling on his sofa.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Look at this, me, actually writing a chapter. Fancy that.

By the way, when I reread the last chapter to remember where I left off, I noticed that the Google advertisement bar at the bottom had advertisements for hangover remedies, and Harry Potter Lego toys. I was highly amused.

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Draco sat in this chair, stunned. He was not at all sure how to proceed; he had expected a great number of things to come of this conversation but none of them was to have the Man-Who-Killed-Voldemort bawling on his sofa.

Harry eventually began to calm down, his tears turning into deep gasps.

"I hate you, you know that? I hate you and everything you stand for, you and all your Death Eater friends," Harry said, barely getting the words out through his uncontrollable gasping.

Draco sighed and thought for a moment.

"That's kind of sad," Draco finally said contemplatively.

"What? That I hate you?" Harry asked bitterly.

"That you hate," Draco answered, "I never got the impression before the war that you truly hated anyone. Perhaps you hated Voldemort, but who wouldn't hate the wizard who killed your parents. No, you didn't really hate me back then, but I did hate you,"

Harry looked up at Draco with confusion.

"I hated you because even back then, when I was so young and foolish, I wanted to be your friend. Deep down I felt that you were so brave and I knew that I was not. I knew that when it came down to it, I was a coward and would never really amount to much of anything. You proved it; you proved it that first day on the train when you wouldn't take my hand. I thought that I could show that I was better than your new friend was but in the end, I just showed you how low I was. I hated you. No, not really, I hated myself,"

Harry just stared at Draco, mouth agape. This was a confession he did not expect.

"Well come on," said Draco with unexpected vigor, "I want to show you something. Have you ever been out in the country before?"

Harry shook his head no. He had always stayed rather close to Reykjavik.

"Well then follow me, I have something to show you," Draco said rising to his feet and walking briskly out of the room.

Harry so no other alternative than to follow this puzzling man.

Draco walked outside into the brisk cold and waited for Harry to follow.

"What did you want to show me?" Harry asked.

"This," said Draco with unexpected ecstasy.

Harry looked around and saw barren Icelandic landscape. He had seen scenes much like this when he had driven from Keflavik to Reykjavik.

"What? It's just a load of rocks with moss on them," Harry said irritably, he wanted to get back in the warmth.

"No, you idiot. Don't you see? This is where the elves live. This is where magic lives. You and I came out of this. England used to be like this but now it's covered with buildings and anger and greed. We came out of that but we can go back to this," Draco said with frustration.

Harry looked again, this time seeing more than just rocks and moss. He saw them, yes, but he saw how they were colored by the low light provided by the grey clouds hanging in the sky, how the dry landscape lead on to the mountains in the distance. He could almost see a glacier, the ice that balanced the fire.

"Is this what you want?" Harry asked. He suddenly understood why he was here. Why he was in Iceland, why he was at Malfoy's home. Why Malfoy was in Iceland, why he had brought him here.

"I just can't find it. Can you?" Draco asked.

"No, no, I can't," Harry answered.

"We still haven't found it," Draco said in frustration.

Harry threw his half-drunk bottle of whiskey at a sharp rock and watched the amber liquid explode everywhere.

"No, but we are closer now than we ever were," Harry said.

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A/N: Well, not quite what I expected when I set out. This might be pretty close to the end. There will definitely be one more chapter if not more. You guys deserve and little more explanation that these guys are willing to give at the moment.

Please review. It doesn't really take that long and it will make future chapters more likely and better because I'll think about them more during the week.

Also, if you are wondering about the elf thing, just Google "Iceland" and "elves" and you will get more explanation that I really feel like giving at the moment. All I shall say here is that anyone who has been out in the country will assert that they are real, no doubt about it.


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